


The Five Stark Proposals That Happened and The One That Didn't Need To

by stxrks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-27 22:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stxrks/pseuds/stxrks
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin: five Starks that proposed to their significant others, and the one Stark who didn't need to.





	The Five Stark Proposals That Happened and The One That Didn't Need To

 

  1. Robb



 

Robb isn’t exactly scared. He’s just on edge because there’s about a million things that could go wrong tonight and everything has to be perfect, because after all the shit Theon’s been through, he deserves that much. So far, so good. Sunspear is relativity quiet, it being a weekday, and the food is as good as ever, just the right amount of spice to give it a kick but not too much as to offend Robb’s northern taste buds.

 

His phone dings and he smiles apologetically at his boyfriend across the dinner table before checking the incoming text.

 

[Received, 20:39] have you asked him yet

 

[Sent, 20:39] not yet

 

[Received, 20:40] man up stark

 

[Sent, 20:41] big talk from the man who’s been trying to work up the courage to propose to Ygritte for the past three years

 

Jon doesn’t reply to that one.

 

“Who was that?” Theon asks lightly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence as they eat.

 

“Just Jon,” Robb says. “I’ll put it away now so we can - “

 

His phone dings several times consecutively.

 

[Received 20:45] ROBB STARK

[Received 20:45] ARE YOU FOR REAL

[Received 20:45] You were planning to propose tonight and didn’t think to tell me?!

[Received 20:46] I only know because JON told us

[Received 20:46] Do you know what it’s like to hear romantic gossip from Jon? It’s terrible.

[Received 20:46] Anyway, I may or may not have spoken to Oberyn, he’ll sort you guys out

 

Robb’s kind of terrified about whatever Sansa has guilted Oberyn into doing when the restaurant lights dim and a few familiar guitar notes are strummed.

 

Theon laughs. “Robb,” he says fondly. “It’s our song.”

 

Robb swallows because it is. He can remember all too well The Wildlings’ one hit wonder Wolf Boy soaring to the top of the charts around the time of Robb’s own college graduation before the band faded back into indie obscurity, can remember the song blasting over the speaker system when he drunkenly confessed to his roommate of four years that he was in love with him and asked Theon to be his boyfriend.

 

“It is,” he says, and is glad for the dimmed lights, because he’s sure is face is as red as his hair. He says a silent prayer of thanks to Sansa, then reaches in his pocket for the ring case and gets to his feet.

 

Theon makes a face. “Can’t you wait until our song is over before ordering another drink?” he teases.

 

Robb laughs weakly, figures it’s now or never, and drops to his knee just as the song’s chorus starts playing, the band’s front woman singing lyrics of wild runs and freedom.

 

A hush falls over their fellow diners, forkfuls of food in midair as their attention turns to Theon and Robb. Bewilderment momentarily clouds Theon’s features before comprehension dawns. “Oh my god, Robb I - “

 

“Theon,” Robb interrupts, his heart pounding, because he’s rehearsed this speech to perfection, but that’s the easy part. “You’re my best mate. You’ve been my best mate since the first day of primary school and you were my best mate until our graduation. And then you said yes to becoming my boyfriend, leading to the happiest three years of my life. And - now I’m asking, will you make me even happier still? Theon, will you marry me?”

 

Robb’s pretty sure he can feel his heart in his throat, can feel the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on him, his blood pumping so loud it almost frowns out Wolf Boy’s second verse.

 

“Robb,” Theon says, “it’s a yes. It’s always been a yes for you.”

 

A cheer erupts throughout the restaurant and Robb remembers how to breathe again. He takes Theon’s hand in his own and slides the ring onto his fiancé’s finger. “Oh thank the gods, he says, and Theon laughs.

 

“Were you seriously worried I’d say no?”

 

Robb winces. “No. Maybe. Yes? I was panicking if you must know.”

 

Theon’s snort of mirth is interrupted by the restaurant owner, Oberyn Martell, descending upon their table, two bottles of champagne in hand. “I’ve send the recording onto your sister,” he tells Robb cheerfully. “Her reply was difficult to decipher but she seems to be happy for you.”

 

Robb grins weakly. “Thank you Oberyn. How much for the -“

 

Oberyn cuts him off with a wave of the hand. “On the house. I don’t see my favourite customers get engaged all that often. Many congratulations to you both.”

 

They both thank him as he leaves, and clink the glasses of bubbly together, smiling at one another.

 

“You know,” Theon says, “we should get engaged more often.”

 

Robb pulls a face. “Don’t even joke about it.”

 

 

  1. Jon and Ygritte 



 

Robb and Theon’s wedding is in full swing, several guests already at varying stage of drunkenness, the married couple taking a well earned break from the dance floor, finally married and annoyingly adorable about it. The band is still in full swing, alternating between their own original songs and various party classics. “Remind me how you know these guys again,” Jon says to Ygritte. He has to raise his voice over the thumping of The Wildlings’ drums.

 

“I told you,” Ygritte yells back. “All Northerners know each other. Real Northerners that is, not you southern wannabes.”

 

Robb and Theon were beyond delighted with Ygritte for getting their favourite band to play at their wedding for a minimal fee. Robb has pointedly thanked her, emphasizing how much he couldn’t wait for her to become his sister-in-law. Jon thinks that one’s a particularly low blow, given Robb knows how much Jon has been trying to man up and pop the question. He needs to do it soon, he knows this. Ygritte’s not the type to wait around for a man to grow a set of balls.

 

The band begins producing a familiar beat, some old pop song from the 1970s that gets a great reaction from the floor.

 

“Let’s dance,” Jon says. She grins at him and follows him onto the floor. Neither of them are the best dancers in the world, but it’s hard to care about that when you’re already half a dozen pints into the night.

 

“The open bar is great,” Ygritte says over the music. It’s a lot easier to hear her when they’re so close to one another, her face mere inches from his. She tucks a wild strand of red hair behind her ear. “Let’s have one when we get married.”

 

It takes a few seconds for her words to register. “When?” he repeats weakly.

 

She rolls her eyes. “Aye Jon Snow, when. Whenever you man up and decide to ask me.”

 

“Oh,” he says. The alcohol is clouding his brain already and he’s finding it hard to form words. “Is now a good time?”

 

Ygritte shrugs. “Better late than never.”

 

“Alright,” he says. He doesn’t bother going down on his knee, just keeps his hands across her hips as they sway out of tune to the beat. “Ygritte, will you marry me?”

 

She grins wickedly. “Thought you’d never ask.” He grins back, and takes a few seconds to carefully remove his ring that he inherited from his late mother. “This’ll have to do until I get you a proper engagement ring.”

 

Lyanna’s ring has always been a bit too snug on Jon’s finger but it fits Ygritte perfectly. She grins. “I love it.”

 

The band is strumming the last chords of the song and Ygritte winks at him and removes her hands from his shoulders. “Bathroom break. See you in a bit, fiancé.”

 

Jon nods, slightly dazed. He meanders to the side to find himself a seat, his previous one having been taken over by a largely intoxicated Tyrion Lannister. He ends up sitting beside Sansa who is engaged in conversation with a woman who has the most perfect curls Jon has ever seen. Sansa is halfway through a pink gin and tonic and has that soppy look on her face she always gets when downing her drink of choice.

 

“Jon!” Sansa exclaims. She’s slightly flushed and her voice is high pitched. This definitely isn’t her first drink. “You remember Margaery Tyrell?”

 

Jon nods. “Uh yeah. Renly’s girlfriend?”

 

Margaery smiles charmingly and extends a handshake to Jon. “Renly and I broke up shortly after secondary school,” she says with a shrug. “I still have to see him at family dinners seeing as he’s engaged to my brother - “ (Jon winces) “ - but that’s life.”

 

“Margaery’s a lifesaver,” Sansa gushes. “None of us even knew Rickon had an allergy to lilies until today. The entire decor would have had to go if she hadn’t gotten us sorted with these roses. Aren’t they beautiful?” She emphasizes the last word while looking directly at Margaery.

 

Margaery shrugs modestly. “Old family business,” she says. “It was my pleasure to help out. And so good to catch up with an old friend! I hadn’t seen Sansa in years, I’d almost forgotten what a beauty she is.”

 

Sansa blushes heavily at that but manages to finally tear her eyes from Margaery and address Jon directly. “How are you anyway Jon? Wasn’t that service just to die for? I thought it was lovely. How did they train Grey Wind to carry the rings like that?”

 

“Arya trained him with lots of dog treats,” Jon answers promptly, having been a first hand witness to his sister’s frustrations over the dog’s training over the past months. He doesn’t know how to bring it up so figures he might as well just spit it out. “Ygritte and I are engaged.”

 

Sansa yelps. “What? Since when?”

 

“Since ten minutes ago,” he replies.

 

Margaery grins. “Ygritte’s the feisty redhead who bested Robert Baratheon in a drinking competition?”

 

“Sounds like her,” Jon admits.

 

Margaery’s grin widens. “Well then you have my sincerest congratulations.” She rises from the table. “I can see my darling brother is already well past his drinking limit and is brave enough to challenge Oberon Martell to a rematch, as if his other leg needs that.” She smiles at Sansa. “You have my number, beautiful. I’m holding you to that coffee date.”

 

“Of course,” Sansa gushes. “I can’t wait.”

 

Jon nudges his sister after Margaery is out of earshot. “Get you, Sansa.”

 

“Oh shut up,” she says, nudging him back harder with her infinitely more pointy elbows. “Engaged? How did it happen? Spare no detail.”

 

Jon shrugs. “We were dancing and it just kind of happened. Was a long time coming,” he muses aloud.

 

“You can say that again,” Sansa declares fervently. “You might want to tell Arya and Bran. They had a bet on when it would happen. Arya bet it would be before Robb’s wedding, Bran bet it would be after.” She looks thoughtful. “I don’t know who gets it if you proposed during.”

 

“Hello Jon Snow,” says a familiar voice, Ygritte appearing at his side. There’s several empty chairs around them but she chooses to seat herself on Jon’s lap, her left arm wrapped around his shoulders.

 

Sansa beams at her. “He told me!Congratulations!”

 

Ygritte grins and flashes the ring. “I can’t believe he finally worked up the balls.”

 

Sansa laughs. “Oh gods, tell me about it, we were all getting beyond sick of waiting.“

 

“Did you know Arya and Bran had a bet on when I’d propose?” Jon says reproachfully.

 

Ygritte smirks. “I can believe that,” she says. “Your siblings are the worst.” She grins at Sansa. “No offense.”

 

“None taken,” Sansa drawls, finishing her drink. “We’re your siblings now too.”

 

Jon laughs, and pulls Ygritte around so she’s facing him, brings his hand to caress her freckled cheek. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, babe?”

 

Her kiss is all the answer he needs.

 

  1. Rickon 



 

Rickon paces across the room again. “You sure this is what you want?” he says. “You want to keep it? You - “

 

“Rickon,” Shireen interrupts firmly. “I want to keep it.” She draws him towards Everest she’s seated on his beat, grabbing his hand and places it on her still relatively flat stomach. “I want to keep our child.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Rickon says hoarsely. “We’re too young. I should have been more careful, I should have - “

 

“Hey,” she says sternly. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s nobody’s fault. We took all the necessary precautions. It’s just one of those things that happens.”

 

“One of those things,” he echoes.

 

“I don’t mean it like that,” she says quietly. “It’s not a thing. It’s a baby.”

 

Rickon nods. “A baby,” he repeats. He feels like an idiot, just repeating everything Shireen says but it’s hard to form coherent thoughts of his own. He forces himself to focus.

 

“I’ll be with you,” he promises fervently. “Every step of the way, I don’t care what your fucking dad says. You’re my girlfriend and that’s my child and I love you. I love you more than anything in the fucking world.”

 

Shireen cups his face in her hand. “I know, Rickon.” She kisses him and it’s soft and perfect and he never wants her to stop.

 

“Who should we tell first?” she asks. “Your family or mine?”

 

“Mine,” he says decidedly. Mum’s going to be mad and Dad’s going to have that broken puppy look of disappointment but that’s tuppence compared to the inevitable incoming wrath of Stannis Baratheon. “They won’t be thrilled, but they’ll stick by us, I know they will.”

 

Shireen smiles sadly. “I don’t expect anyone to be thrilled. I’m going to be a seventeen year old single mother and - “

 

“You’re not,” Rickon says at once. “You’re not single.”

 

“I mean in the eyes of the law,” she tells him. “Single in the fact that I’m not married.”

 

Rickon’s heart skips a beat. “Doesn’t have to be like that.”

 

Shireen looks at him. “What are you saying?” she asks slowly.

 

Rickon drops to the floor at her feet, props his hands on the bed on either side of her legs. “Marry me,” he says, although it’s more of a plea. “You deserve so much more than this, you deserve the world, and I want to do my damn best to give it to you. We can do it before the baby, I know we can. Sansa’s girlfriend is a florist, I know she can make sure we have a proper beautiful ceremony, and Jon’s mate Sam could do the catering and my dad knows all the legal stuff and - “

 

Shireen puts a gentle finger against his lip to shut up his tangent and looks at him without saying a word. Rickon feels sick.

 

When she finally speaks, her voice is trembling. “Are you sure you want this?” You’re so young, and you want to tie yourself to someone like me forever?”

 

“Someone like you?” Rickon says scathingly. He gently runs his fingers across her scars, threads them through her soft hair. “If by that you mean the most beautiful, clever, amazing person I’ve ever met, then yes. I want to be with someone like you, Shireen Baratheon.” He pauses. “Or Shireen Stark if you will.”

 

She snorts. “I think that would piss my dad off more than any underage pregnancy.”

 

He laughs. He loves her so much in that moment, for her ability to smile and crack jokes and be such a ray of sunlight even in the worst of times. “So what’s your answer? Will you marry me, Shireen Baratheon-Stark?”

 

She smiles fondly. “I like the sound of that one. And - yes. Yes, Rickon Stark. I’ll gladly marry you.”

 

He allows himself to breathe properly. “That’s a relief.” He scrambles onto his bed and kisses her. What he meant to be a soft chaste kiss of gratitude turns into something far filthier, until he’s lying on his back, Shireen atop of him.

 

“Were you nervous proposing to me?” she asks him fondly.

 

“Shitting bricks,” he admits. He pauses. “Way scarier than breaking any sort of news to the parents.”

 

She laughs at that and kisses him deeper, and no this situation he’s found himself in isn’t ideal, but Rickon can’t think of a better person to be facing it with.

 

  1. Sansa 



 

“Okay, bye Mum. Margaery gives her best. Bye. Love you too.” She hangs up the phone with a groan.

 

“You okay?” Margaery asks worriedly from the couch. “Darling, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Sansa feels faint as she makes her way to the couch and nestles beside her girlfriend, pulling their shared blanket around her. “You know my brother Rickon?”

 

“Your youngest brother,” Margaery says. “Nice kid. What about him?”

 

“He’s knocked up his girlfriend,” Sansa says through gritted teeth.”

 

“Oh gods,” Margaery says. She pulls Sansa even closer towards her and presses her lips against her girlfriend’s forehead. “How’s Catelyn taking it?”

 

Sansa winces. “Not well. She’s caught in between trying to be nice for Shireen’s sake and wanting to ground Rickon for all eternity. They’ve left Dad to face breaking the news to Shireen’s parents. It’s a total mess.”

 

“Oh darling,” Margaery says. “Does she need us to help out?”

 

Sansa groans. “That’s the kicker.” She hates laying this on Margaery. “Rickon popped the question after she told him. He wants to have the ceremony before the baby’s due. Mum reckons we’re her best bet in the case of planning an impromptu wedding.”

 

Margaery cracks her knuckles. “Well. Sounds like something you and I can pull together. When are we aiming for?”

 

Sansa pulls a face. “Mum reckons a month from now would be good.”

 

Margaery looks momentarily frazzled but composes herself quickly. “Well then. Not a moment to lose.”

 

Sansa sees the look of sheer determination on her girlfriend’s face and falls in love that little bit more.

 

The next few weeks are hectic. Sansa’s kind of glad for the first time in her life that her boss Mr Baelish has a weird crush on her, because he turns a mostly blind eye when she devotes her office hours to planning the perfect emergency wedding. Slowly but surely, Margaery and herself make their way through a checklist that’s a mile long.

 

It’s T-minus three days until Rickon and Shireen’s big day and Sansa’s ready to fall over. She hasn’t slept properly in two days and her body is protesting. Greatly. She persists on, crouching over her laptop, mentally going through her checklist.

 

“Darling,” Margaery calls from the kitchen. “Take a rest.”

 

“I can’t,” Sansa mutters. “We still haven’t finalized the cake and - “

 

“I was just on the phone to your sister,” Margaery says. Sansa can hear her girlfriend’s footsteps approaching her and when Margaery wraps her arm around Sansa’s shoulders, Sansa almost purrs as she leans into the touch. Margaery feels even softer and welcoming than usual, what with Sansa’s sleep deprivation. “Arya’s friend Hot Pie is taking care of it,” Margaery mutters against Sansa’s neck, her breath warm. “I’ve been in touch with the caterers. And the flowers are sorted. You need to rest, my love.”

 

Sansa smiles fondly. “How did I end up with such an efficient girlfriend?”

 

“You got lucky,” Margaery teases gently. “You get into bed. I’ll be there in a minute, just let me brew us a pot of tea and get some lemon cakes from the cupboard.”

 

Sansa smiles tiredly as she allows her girlfriend to lead her to their bedroom. “Marry me,” she says, without even thinking.

 

Margaery looks uncharacteristically thrown for a second, then readily composes herself. “I’ll hold you to that when you’re less exhausted.” She winks and makes her way to the kitchen where Sansa can soon hear the clattering of cutlery and the whirring of the kettle.

 

She feels a blush rising in her cheeks as she relives the past few seconds. “Oh gods. Did I actually say that aloud?”

 

From the kitchen, Margaery calls back to her with a laugh. “Possibly. But it’s okay, you’re tired.”

 

Sansa bites her lip. “I’m still able to form coherent thoughts,” she mutters to herself. “Just no filter between my thoughts and my mouth.”

 

Margaery enters the bedroom with a plate stacked with lemon cakes and two steaming mugs of tea lain on a tray. “Your thoughts, hm?”

 

“Yeah,” Sansa says sheepishly. She blows on her tea out of habit and sips. Drop of milk, two spoons of sugar, just how she likes it. “I’m serious, you know,” she says. “Sleepy but serious.”

 

Margaery smiles. “I always thought you were more of a diamonds and roses on top of the Eiffel Tower type girl.”

 

“I am,” Sansa admits as she nibbles on a lemon cake. “But this is nice too. Tea and lemon cakes and cozy pajamas.”

 

“It is,” Margaery agrees. She sips her own tea. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll happily marry you, Sansa Stark.”

 

Sansa laughs. This feels surreal. Gods, she needs sleep. “I’m honored,” she teases, finishing her tea and lemon cake.

 

“On two conditions,” Margaery says after a few seconds. “The first is we hire someone to undergo the entire planning process, because there is no way in hells I am planning another wedding.”

 

“Done,” Sansa agrees, barely suppressing a yawn. “What’s the second condition?”

 

Margaery presses a gentle kiss to Sansa’s forehead. “That you get some sleep, love. Right now.”

 

Sansa smiles. “I can manage that,” she says, curling into her girlfriend, no her fiancé, and letting a long overdue bought of sleep claim her.

 

  1. Bran 



 

“We just changed him so you guys shouldn’t have to worry about that. And you have the restaurant’s number,” Rickon repeats. “Just in case. And I’ve let Davy’s doctor’s number on the fridge, he’s prone to tummy aches and there’s spare wipes under the stairs if you guys run out and - “

 

“Rickon,” Bran says, from the sofa. “Calm down. We’ll be fine.”

 

Rickon grins sheepishly. “Okay, right. I know that. Gods, when did I become such a worrier?”

 

“Since you became a parent,” Jojen says gently from the doorway. He has Davy balanced against his hip, the two year old already on the verge of dozing off, his head tucked against Jojen’s shoulder. Bran’s heart just about melts at how adorably domestic his boyfriend looks. “It’s natural.”

 

“Mmm,” says Rickon. He absently runs his hands through his unruly curls, his only feature that hasn’t changed over the years. “I used to be so cool. Do you guys remember how cool I used to be?”

 

“You were never cool,” Shireen teases from behind Jojen. She’s got her coat on and is checking her watch. “Come on Rick, the dinner’s booked for seven.” She glances towards Bran and Jojen. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice, you guys.”

 

Bran waves his sister-in-law off. “No problem. You sure your uncle is going to be okay?” Davy’s namesake and usual babysitter isn’t technically Shireen’s uncle, but he’s as good as. Bran can remember how much he helped her from the start, all that time ago when she told her family about her pregnancy. It had taken Stannis and Selyse time to adjust but Shireen’s godfather Davos had been with her every step of the way.

 

Shireen nods. “Oh, don’t worry. He’ll be more than fine. He was ready to come straight over here after the operation for babysitting duty but I convinced him to rest.” She rolls her eyes fondly. “Bye, then Davy,” she says to her son. “Mummy and Daddy will see you after sleepy time. You be a good boy for Uncle Bran and Uncle Jojen.” She winks at the two of them. “You’re both his favourite uncles, but don’t you dare let Robb know that.”

 

Davy mumbles something nonsensical against Jojen’s shoulder and Rickon groans. “Oh gods, he’s drooling all over you. Ugh, I’m so desensitized to kids’ grossness at this stage, I forget not everyone is.” He pulls a face at Bran. “How did Mum and Dad manage all six of us?”

 

Bran shrugs. “That’s an unsolved mystery for the books. But I think Jojen and I can handle Davy for one night. You guys go and have fun. It’s your anniversary, celebrate it! And Shireen, you look stunning.”

 

Shireen beams. “Thanks Bran.” She’s got her hair in an elaborate updo, and the style suits her so much better than the awkward fringe she would always insist on wearing to hide her scars as a teenager. She nudges Rickon gently. “We need to hurry or we’ll have to cancel,” she urges Rickon. She turns to Bran and Jojen. “Look, don’t stress over Davy. Once he’s fully asleep, put him to bed and chill out down here. Put on a film or whatever, we have Netflix on the telly. Are you coming, Rickon?”

 

Rickon sighs. “Alright, alright. I’m coming. Bye Davy. Love you loads, sweetheart.” He grins and dorkily salutes Bran and Jojen. “Love you guys too.”

 

“Like I said,” Shireen says, shaking her head as she ushers him out the door. “Never cool.”

 

Jojen grins at Bran and gently lowers himself onto the sofa beside him as Shireen and Rickon leave. “You want to take Davy and I’ll make us some tea?”

 

“Sure,” Bran replies, gently taking his nephew onto his own knee, careful so as not to disturb him. “Coffee for me if they have it.”

 

Jojen kisses his cheek. “One black coffee coming up.”

 

Bran smiles, his boyfriend’s familiarity with his drinking habits charming. He hears Jojen bustling about in the kitchen and hums to himself, Davy beginning to gently snore against him. Right after his accident, Bran had developed a habit of apologizing for not being able to do basic things for himself, namely make a cup of tea. It had been Jojen, back when they were still only friends who hung out on account of their fathers’ friendship, who had encouraged him to stop apologizing and start thanking.

 

“Your family doesn’t help you because they expect an apology,” he had told Bran on a Bran’s first weekend visiting the Reeds since his fall. “They do it because they love you. You should thank them.”

 

Bran had thought Jojen was the wisest thirteen year old he’d ever met and he still reckons that day was the first day he fell in love, although it taken over another ten years before he asked Jojen out.

 

Jojen returns with tea for himself and dark coffee for Bran. He winces when he sees Bran gulp it down. “I don’t know how you handle that stuff.”

 

“It’s good,” Bran protests, not too loudly for fear of waking Davy who’s well under sleep at this stage. “Should we put him to bed?”

 

“Sure,” Jojen says. He hoists Davy up carefully, taking care not to be too rough. Fortunately Davy is as heavy of a sleeper as his father before him - Bran once saw Rickon sleep through one of Robb’s teenage house parties - and doesn’t stir.

 

Bran makes sure the baby monitor is working, sure enough he can hear Jojen putting their nephew to sleep and Davy’s continuous steady breathing.

 

Jojen returns a minute later. “Having kids wouldn’t be so bad you know,” he muses aloud as he sits down next to Bran. “Once you get used to them.”

 

“You might be singing a different if you had to change a nappy every other hour,” Bran warns. He rests his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder and grabs for the remote control, flicking through Rickon’s dismal Netflix selection.

 

“Maybe,” says Jojen. “If it was with the right person, you might be able to make those sacrifices.”

 

Bran sighs. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. “Jojen, I told you I don’t think - “

 

“That you could?” Jojen says. He plants a kiss on Bran’s lips. “Of course you could.” You’d be a great father.” He punctuates each sentence with a kiss on a different area, across Bran’s jawline, his cheek, his neck. “You’re smart and kind and funny. You’ve got a boyfriend who loves you and a family that would do anything for you. Any kid would be lucky to call you their dad.” Bran feels his stomach flutter slightly, feels a jolt in his heart that’s got nothing to do with the soft kisses Jojen is pressing against his skin.

 

“Mmm,” Bran mutters. He leans his head back slightly allowing Jojen better access to his neck. He catches a framed photo of Rickon’s wedding on the side table. The wedding had been charming in its own right, mostly thanks to Sansa and Margaery. “We’d have to get married. If we were to have any chance of adoption.”

 

Jojen stops kissing his neck momentarily. “Are you asking?” he asks coyly.

 

“Maybe,” says Bran. He absently runs his hand across Jojen’s chest. “Maybe not right now. Sansa and Margaery are getting married next month. We can’t throw another engagement on top of mum so soon. She’d have a fit.”

 

For a few minutes they sit together in a comfortably silence, the lack of noise only punctuated by the baby monitor.

 

“Kids would be a lot of work,” Bran says suddenly. “And with my condition - “

 

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Jojen says quickly. “But raising a child isn’t easy for anyone.”

 

“I know,” Bran says softly. “I’ll think some more about it. If we are serious about it, we should give the marriage idea some thought too you know.”

 

Jojen laughs at that. He still has laugh of a twelve year old. “No need to overthink that one. You know it’s a yes.”

 

\+ 1 Arya

 

“Married?” Arya repeats. She folds her arms and looks at Gendry skeptically. “Are you having a laugh?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Gendry says worriedly. He peers through the form. “Look, it says here that we went to the Civil Registry Offices on the twenty first of February and sorted out the legalities. I have zero recollection of it.”

 

The twenty first of February. Arya wracks her brain. The date sounds annoyingly familiar.

 

It comes to her. Oh, gods.

 

“The twenty first,” she says. “That was Bran and Jojen’s wedding.”

 

Gendry’s eyes widen at the connection. “Oh shit. Where we had a drinking competition with -

 

“Yep.”

 

“And drank all the - “

 

“Yup.”

 

“And mixed it with the - “

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“Oh gods,” he says. “That explains it.”

 

Arya thinks for a moment and shrugs. “Well, it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

 

He looks at her strangely. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, we love each other, right?”

 

“Of course,” he says quickly. “You know, I love you, Arry.”

 

“Alright,” she says, deciding to ignore the fuzzy feelings the stupid nickname gives her. “So, we’re married. So what? It doesn’t change anything. We’re still us. Just with a piece of paper we drunkenly signed. Not like I fancied the idea of a big traditional wedding anyway.”

 

Gendry grins at that and pulls her towards him. She allows herself to fall into his lap, straddles him slightly as he wraps his muscular arms around her back. “So we’re not immediately filing for divorce?”

 

“Nah,” Arya says decidedly. She leans down to suck on his neck, just where his neck meets his collarbone, in that little spot she knows is extra sensitive. “Too costly. And all that paperwork. What a hassle.”

 

“Mhm. I see your point.” He stands up suddenly, supporting her weight with just his hands. “Sansa will be upset she didn’t get a chance to see you in a bridal dress.”

 

Arya snorts. “What a tragedy.”

 

“Well, my lady,” - this time she does swat him for the stupid nickname - “I think some long overdue honeymoon sex is in order.”

 

“Not much of a honeymoon if it’s in our own flat, is it?” she teases, then decides she’d rather be kissing him than teasing him and does so.

 

Kissing her husband. It’s not such a bad experience.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is a girl’s best friend xx


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